Dear Chelsea,

First off, congratulations! It's your wedding weekend, and I know the emotions are running high. It's being called the Wedding of the Decade—no pressure there. So anyhoo, I just wanted to drop you a quick note to offer my best wishes and support.

Secondly, you're probably wondering who the heck I am to be offering my best wishes and support. Well Chels (can I call you Chels?), I know we've never met, but I've always felt a kinship with you. I've followed you (in the most gentle, non-stalker-ish way) since you first set foot in the White House back in 1992. You were 12, I was 19, and behind that mop of naturally curly hair, the awful plaid jumpers, and the whole awkward tween thing, I saw a kindred spirit. You see, you and I are both what is sometimes kindly referred to as "late bloomers" who both struggled with what is not so kindly referred to as "a head full of frizz."

Also, we both have strong, outspoken, pantsuit-wearing, career-driven mothers whose hairstyles have often been the subject of much heated debate.

And after this coming weekend when you tie the knot, we will both be married to men named Mark.

Although yours, for some reason, has the alternate spelling, Marc. Still, given our commonalities and the fact that my Mark and I just celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary, I thought I'd offer you as a gift (sorry—I didn't know where you were registered) a few pieces of marital advice I've gleaned over the past several years.

1. Don't feel like you must have breakfast together. It's just not normal. When we first got married, I envisioned a Saturday morning routine where we'd linger over a basket of freshly baked muffins and the New York Times, discussing global issues before tackling the day. As it turns out, I am a morning person, my husband is not. So while I pop out of bed, ready to run five miles before the sun rises, my husband needs to gently ease into the day, which seems to involve a lot of grunting, coffee, ESPN, and more grunting. It took a few years of trying to awkwardly force a.m. communication for us to realize that it's not worth it. Now, I go out for my run, he does his grunting thing, and by 9 a.m. we're almost on the same page.

2. Merging two families takes a lot of work. We all have certain family members who are… wait, I don't really need to explain this one to you, do I? Better advice: plan an exotic vacation that just happens to fall over Thanksgiving and get the heck out of the country.

3. Go to bed angry. Not on a regular basis, of course, but when the inevitable argument arises, it sometimes beats staying up all night angry, which leads to being tired and cranky, which usually leads to being angrier. Sleep, which becomes an increasingly valuable commodity when children arrive, can be the ultimate peacemaker (no offense to your dad, who is darn good at peacemaking in his own right). Plus, you will need the extra rest to win the argument in the morning.

4. I'm kidding of course, because marriage is not a competitive sport. The minute you start thinking in terms of "winners" and "losers," well, that's when you lose. Or at least your marriage does. You're not competing with (or against) each other, and you're certainly not competing with any other couples.

5. Convince Marc that plain black socks are very, very sexy. And then buy two dozen pairs of them and throw out all his other socks. Sorting socks slowly sucks the life out of you—it's a little-known medical fact.

6. Celebrate. I know you're something of a celebrity and all, but let's face it—no matter who you are, married life can at times be a tad dull. Every relationship goes through its peaks and valleys, and some days just don't feel all that special, particularly when the little ones come along. Don't wait until your anniversary rolls around to celebrate your relationship. Break out the bubbly for your first date-iversary. And your proposal-iversary. And your Hey-It's-A-Random-Tuesday-In-March-iversary. Celebrations will likely change with time: you might spend your first wedding anniversary dining on delicacies in a fancy restaurant before returning home to eat the top tier of wedding cake you put in the freezer (which will be disgusting) but your seventh anniversary eating leftover pizza and cake from the Thomas the Tank Engine-themed double birthday you threw for your kids the night before (which will be delicious). The details don't matter—the celebration does.

7. Make your own rules. I don't really have to explain this one to you, either—no one has lived through it more than you. People will always have something to say about your marriage, but ultimately, it's yours. Create it, define it, protect it.

So there you have it, Chelsea. May you enjoy every minute of your special day, estimated to cost between $3 million and $5 million. I hope you shine in the glow of love from your (500) closest friends and family (including such superstars as Oprah Winfrey and Steven Spielberg). Much as I want to see a picture, I hope your mom finds a way to have any paparazzi who crash the party sentenced to several years of hard labor in a vuvuzuela factory. Hold on tightly to your dad as he walks you down the aisle—he's been waiting for that moment with a mixture of excitement and dread your whole life. Drink the champagne, eat the cake, savor the moment. And then go continue to do what you've already been doing: live happily ever after.

Mona Shand is a radio and TV News Reporter who is not on the invite list for Chelsea Clinton's wedding. At least not yet. You can read more on her blog.